The Twenty First Floor Apartment
by paradiso
Summary: Danny's paperwork is due on Saturday morning to Stella. But things don't go quite as planned. Mostly friendship, with some Stella/Mac and Danny/Lindsay.


**Twenty-First Floor Apartment**

"Damn," Danny Messer muttered to himself as he climbed a fifteenth flight of stairs, with six more to go until he reached his desired floor.

Well, it wasn't so much _desired_ as it was mandatory. Especially on a Saturday morning at ten o' clock, when he should've been asleep in bed, not to be disturbed until the later hours of the afternoon. But there he was, furious and exhausted and panting because of this unexpected early-morning workout.

Of course, it didn't bother him so much that he was scheduled to meet with Stella Bonasera that morning at eight-thirty, so he could hand her the case file that he'd completed the night before. She needed to make a deadline, and he'd fallen behind the previous night. But eight-thirty on Saturday morning had come and gone at the lab. So had eight forty-five, then nine, then nine-fifteen...

At nine-thirty, Danny had given up and flown into a brief panic, wracking his brain mercilessly for answers to the most urgent question he'd ever had to ask himself: _Where is Stella?_ He thought for a moment, pacing back and forth the way he would never have done in front of others. It only exaggerated the side of him that was a constant nervous wreck, the side of him that had to know anything and everything about his team, at all times. And since, Danny mused, that _he_ didn't like being treated like a mischievous child who was always running off and getting in to trouble (Stella might have wholly agreed) he tried his best not to show how damn near _maternal_ he could be at times. Lest Sheldon Hawks smack him in the face with one of those lighthearted but deadpan comments about his masculinity (or lack thereof).

Because of all this and more, Danny Messer had tried to calm himself. Convince himself that Stella was probably just held up in traffic (except that she got up at five every day to avoid it), or that she'd left him a note somewhere stating that she hadn't needed his case file so badly after all (but that had been the dream he'd had last night), or maybe, just maybe, Stella just plain forgot.

_Yeah freakin' right,_ he thought to himself when he was midway up the seventeenth flight of stairs.

The cellular phone in his pocket seemed to burn through the material, into his skin, begging to be used. But he'd considered that already. He would've dialed Mac's number first, interrupted his breakfast, and then frantically, Danny would've asked, "Where is Stella?"

He imagined that Mac would've sighed, and come up with the answer from out of nowhere, and it was that scenario that convinced Danny that there was no way in hell he was calling Mac to come to his rescue.

He could handle this on his own.

So out the window went the prospects of requesting aid from Lindsay or Sheldon or Adam, even. Sid hadn't been an option in the first place, the ME just would have laughed and made some inappropriate joke with regards to Danny's eagerness to find Stella at eight-thirty on Saturday morning. At that point, Danny wasn't sure he could've handled any more cruel, insensitive jokes.

_She has to be here_, he wheezed at the end of the twenty-first staircase, _If she isn't I'm..._

He couldn't complete the thought because he was too busy catching his breath. He cursed the damn elevator for needing repairs the very morning that he'd decided to play the part of a one-man search party for Stella Bonasera.

He didn't have to walk too far to reach her door, it was the second down the hallway on his right. He stopped when he reached the door, taking note of the Saturday edition of the Times that was still hanging on the doorknob. He breathed a sigh of relief, because this meant that Stella was probably still inside her apartment and had been there all morning.

_For whatever reason_, his mind added and he opened the folder in his hand to make sure everything with the file was in order.

After a few brief once-overs, he lifted his fist to the door and gave a gentle knock.

Thirty seconds. No reply.

He knocked again, louder this time, and waited another minute, not wanting to irritate her if she was in the middle of something.

Finally, after having stood outside Stella Bonasera's apartment for ten minutes on a pair of aching feet, Danny pounded relentlessly on the door.

On the third hit, his knuckle hit the edge of the peephole and Danny thought, _That was karma, wasn't it? The universe hates me._

He slumped against the wall, sucking on a bloody knuckle and trying to relieve the ache within his legs. He didn't know how much time had passed when he heard the first signs of Stella Bonasera on the other side of her apartment door.

"Stella?" he said loudly.

And then there it was again. A groan. A low, gravelly sound that he'd heard before, but never from her. He banished all inappropriate thoughts from his head and came to conclusion that Stella was in pain.

_Of course!_ He grinned brightly for almost no good reason at all, _She hurt herself! Badly! That's what's been holding her up for so long._

"Danny?" came the pitiful voice from the other side, and suddenly he stopped feeling so good about everything.

"Stella? Stella!" he flew to the door and pressed his ear up against it.

He tried the doorknob with no luck, it was still locked.

"Come on Stella! Open the door now!" he panicked again, the case file long forgotten on the floor.

A wary passer by was shocked by his display. She stopped, laundry basket at her side and placed a firm hand on his shoulder.

"Hey, you jerk, leave her alone or I'll call the cops," she said testily which was brave for a little thing like herself.

"You don't understand," Danny told her.

"Oh I understand alright. Get out of here."

"But I'm just-"

"I said leave."

The door swung open, Danny who'd had one hand leaning against it, supporting his weight stumbled gracelessly into the apartment, past Stella who stood to the side of the doorway.

"Oh..." said the woman in the hallway, "Good morning Stella."

"Good morning Elizabeth. That's a nice haircut."

"You like it? I just got it done the other day!"

Danny lay dejectedly on the floor, like the case file that was still in the hallway. His confusion turned to disbelief when the two woman in front of him began chatting incessantly about up-do's and down-do's and other such do's that had nothing to _do _with him. On the floor of Stella's apartment, at ten-thirty in the morning, with aching legs, a bloody fist, and worst of all, a bruised ego.

"Well it looks like you've got some work to do."

"Yeah, I'm leaving for Arizona this weekend, so I need to get this laundry done."

"Alright then, I'll try and stop by before you leave."

"Sounds great, you know where I am."

Stella shut the door contentedly and then turned around and saw Danny, "Oh."

"Oh?" his eyes flashed as he struggled to his feet, nearly tripping over himself once or twice, "Is that _all_ you can say?"

She peered at him closely with some kind of mystical shadow over her eyes, preventing him from reading them. Gradually, the anger he'd felt subsided at the sight of her usually bright blue-green eyes, dull in the shade. There were no lights on in the apartment, and the curtains were drawn. A dim light managed to break through the brown material, barely illuminating the room enough to comfortably read a book.

She sniffled heavily and Danny thought for one terrifying moment that he'd done something to hurt or insult her and now she was going to cry and Mac was going to kill him and he was going to lose his job and then-

She sneezed loudly, comically even, except that Danny wasn't laughing.

"Oh Danny," she sniffled against and let out a frustrated growl, "I'm going to _die_."

She brushed past him and flopped down onto the couch with little of the grace that she was known for. Her head hung back, eyes closed, mouth open, as though she had already left the realm of the living but wasn't quite dead.

"I don't know what happened," she started what would turn into an uncharacteristic spiel, "I went out for a walk last night in the rain. And I walked and walked and walked, but you see, I couldn't find what I was looking for. So I walked back to the apartment, and the elevator wasn't working. Can you believe that? And see, I was a little tired, so I didn't really feel like taking twenty-three... twenty-two... no! Twenty-one! Yes, twenty-one flights of stairs up to my apartment, soaking wet. So I sat in the lobby for awhile, checked my mail, and oh... none of that matters now because I'm going to _die_."

Danny was speechless he simply stood in the small foyer of her home and stared, baffled by her confusing speech and unsure of what he was going to do about it. She generally wasn't one to babble, she couldn't be if she was going to spend so much time working with Mac, who always demanded that they stay on task and only speak of what was necessary to know.

"I'm... a little confused," he said shakily.

Stella opened her eyes and blinked innocently. He wanted to scream, but instead, took a breath and said calmly, "You were supposed to meet me this morning, remember?"

"No."

He pinched the bridge of his nose in a classic gesture of frustration and then proceeded into the living room.

"You can sit down if you want," her eyes were closed again.

"Are you sick?"

"I _said_ I was dying."

"Right."

"Mind if I feel your forehead?"

"You don't believe me?"

He sighed and then move to sit next to her on the couch. He reached out and laid his palm against the smooth skin of her brow. The transfer from the cold hair to her heated flesh, shocked him a little, and he pulled back immediately.

"You are sick," he said without thinking.

She sat up straight and glared at him, "That's what I said!" and then she regretted the sudden movement, having been overtaken by a wave of nausea.

"We should get you to a doctor."

"Oh, please," she stood up, her body swaying confusedly, "I don't... need a doctor. I kind of just want some juice. You wouldn't happen to have any juice in this place, would you?"

"Stella, we're in your apartment."

"Oh."

He glanced nervously to the wine bottle on the table and then decided against asking if she'd consumed any alcohol in the past few hours. For fear of his _life._

"Right well..." it didn't seem right for him to get up and leave her here, confused, in pain, and possibly intoxicated, three things that screamed _disaster_ in his face.

But at the same time, the awkwardness of the situation was suffocating, although Stella didn't seem quite lucid enough to be able to notice, which he was thankful for. He prayed that after a quick nap, she would wake up feeling at least a little bit better and hopefully wouldn't remember of any of this.

For the sake of his dignity, and hers.

"Should I call someone, Stella?"

"There's no one to call," he watched her stumble into the kitchenette, looking for juice, probably.

He walked into the kitchen, and something inside him broke when he saw what it looked like. The walls were painted a tacky lemon-yellow. The cupboards were nearly bare of utensils. She had two of everything, he noted, two plates, two mugs, two teacups that he highly doubted she ever used. The doors were all open, even the ones in her eyes, because in this sickened state, she didn't have the energy to realize that she wasn't completely closed. The way she usually was.

"You have two of everything," he said, feeling adventurous all of a sudden.

"Sometimes Mac comes over," she replied and opened the refrigerator, "Damn. No juice."

The lack of juice in Stella's apartment turned out to be a more serious matter than Danny could have ever anticipated. But in a split second, she'd sunk to her knees on the floor and was swiping furiously at her eyes.

"Uh..."

"There's no juice."

"Right but... Stella? Stella?" he crept to her side, "Are you crying?"

"Of course I'm crying! I'm sick, and there's no fucking juice in my apartment, and here you are, going on and on about cutlery and..." she sniffled, the tears flowed freely.

"D-don't cry, Stella," he patted her back awkwardly and then stood up, "I can go get some for you."

"You will?"

_I will?_ he thought to himself and began to wonder how he'd gotten himself in this mess, "But maybe it's not a good idea to leave you here..."

And then by some miracle, Danny decided, there was a timid knock at the door, so soft that Stella who was still a mess on the floor over her juice deficiency, didn't hear a thing.

"I'm going to go get that," he said, exasperated and embarrassed by the grown woman, his _boss_ nonetheless, who just wouldn't stop bawling like a child.

He scurried out of the kitchen like he was running away from some phenomenal disaster, "Yes?" he said as he opened the door.

"I found this outside," said Lindsay Monroe, holding up his oh so important case file, "What's going on?"

She stormed past him before he got the chance to reply and strode over to the dining room table. She raised her eyebrows at the near-empty wine bottle and said, "Does this have something to do with it?"

Then she looked at Danny closely and her eyes narrowed to slits, "Were you _here_ last night?" she asked, venom lacing her words.

"What? Me? No! I was just... the case file... in the office... you see, Stella wasn't there and-"

"_Danny_!" came a screech from the kitchen, causing them both to jump, "Did you get that juice? I hope it's grape. I like grape juice the best, you know."

"I can tell," Lindsay said wryly, holding up the wine bottle.

"Stella is sick."

"Well I'm not surprised. This bottle is almost empty."

"No I mean. She went for a walk last night."

"In that tropical thunderstorm you mean? What the hell did she do that for?"

"Well I've been _trying_ to figure that out. To figure any of this out really, want to help?"

"_Guys!"_ Stella stumbled into the dining room looking angry, but then her expression morphed slowly into bewilderment, and then finally, happiness, a contented smile settled onto her face, "Oh, hello Lindsay. Did you get a haircut?"

"What?" she shook her head no, "Stella, you don't look too good."

"Well _duh_," Stella stumbled towards them and placed a hand on Danny's shoulder to steady herself, "I'm dying, Lindsay."

"I'm sure it's not that serious."

"No. No really, I'm dying."

"She has a fever," Danny corrected and Stella's arms went across her chest.

"Why won't you guys believe me?" she stomped her foot angrily, an action that was reminiscent of the six-year-old brat that she had never been.

"We should get you to a hospital or something," Lindsay said worriedly, taking Stella by the waist and helping her to the couch, "You had a lot to drink."

"Well if I'm going to die," Stella replied as Lindsay brushed away a few stray curls from her sweaty forehead, "I'm going to die happy. I guess it's good that you're here."

Lindsay looked up only when she felt Danny tugging on her sleeve, "What?" she snapped.

"Can I speak to you a moment, in the kitchen?" he said, his eyes pleading with her.

Stella, whose eyes were closed, replied for her, "She's busy. Can you come back later."

Danny rolled his eyes, "We need to discuss the situation with the juice. Do you mind."

One eye open, "I suppose it's alright then."

Danny and Lindsay exchanged glances, his was desperate, hers, a little more calm and in control. The moment she stood up, he ushered her quickly into the next room and spoke softly.

"She's not going to let us take her to a hospital."

"I'm not sure I _want_ to take her to a hospital when she's in this state. Can you imagine the stares?"

"Not only that, but you know what she's like when she wants her way."

"Remember! Grape juice!" Stella called from the couch.

"Got it," Danny yelled back before lowering his voice to a whisper again, "Lindsay, maybe this is too much for us."

"What do you mean?" Lindsay's eyes flashed, "You don't think we can handle her? You're just ready to give up? Why don't you just leave then, I'll take care of her."

"That's not what I meant."

"What exactly did you mean then?"

He hesitated, "We could call Mac. Stella's not one to drink. If something _else_ is wrong, I can't think of anyone but Mac who would know what that is."

Lindsay pondered this, and as she did so, Danny tried not to notice the way her hair – it was in curls today – bounced freely around her face as she frowned, trying to come up with an answer to his question. She was undeniably adorable. But he shook the thought away when she looked at him with daggers in her eyes.

"Fine," she said quietly, "I'll call him up. You go sit with Stella."

He nodded dumbly, having not expected her to take hold of the situation as quickly as she had. She shot him a pained look, and he dashed out of the kitchen for the second time that morning and into the living room. He had expected to find Stella dozing gratefully on a couch that wasn't quite big enough for her tall frame. He was mistaken.

"Lindsay!" he cried, but she was already on the phone and when she poked her head out of the kitchen doorway, she gave him a helpless look before pointing at the hall that went deeper into the apartment.

Danny sighed with relief and jogged towards Stella, who was stumbling blindly through the darkened passage, one hand to the wall, the other to her head.

"I don't feel so great," she said quietly when he came up behind her, "I'm dying, Danny."

"You're going to be just fine," he said, taking her hand, "Is this your bedroom?"

She nodded and he held the door open for her, making sure that she didn't trip on her way in. The room looked the same to him as it had when Mac had first described it to him, that awful night when Stella was attacked. Danny mused that she still slept here, she refused to move into a different apartment, and the only thing she'd done to the room was roll up that blood-stained carpet and toss it out.

"My bed is missing," she said, feeling the air.

"It's right here Stella," he put his hands to her back and gently guided her to the double-sized bed.

"Oh."

She put her hand down on the mattress, as though she was testing it for firmness and durability. Satisfied, she closed her eyes and collapsed on top of the comforter, her head adjacent to the pillow.

Then Danny made a wondrous and unexpected discovery.

Stella snored.

She snored loudly.

At least, she did until Danny managed to turn her around on the bed, so that her head was actually on top of the pillow. He decided not to try and get her under the covers, for fear of what might happen if she woke up suddenly to find him towering over her.

Exhausted himself, from the staircase and from trying to handle a sick, intoxicated _and_ adamantly death-bound Stella, Danny sat down on the floor beside her bed.

He was almost asleep himself when Lindsay appeared beside him, "Hey, Danny, wake up. What are you doing?"

"Huh," he shook his head as if to dust away the cobwebs that had mysteriously formed around his brain, "Lindsay?"

"You were asleep," she rolled her eyes, "Why am I not surprised, Messer?"

"Hey, cool it, Montana. I've had a rough day."

"Oh please, it's like, noon. And you've probably only been away for what... two hours?"

"On the contrary," he said in a very matter-of-fact tone, "I've been awake since seven a.m. At which time, I scrambled to the lab – on three hours of sleep, might I add – in order to meet Stella for eight, so that I could hand her my case file."

"The case file that was lying in the hallway?" she smirked.

"Um, yeah. That one," he shrugged sheepishly, "You can't tell me that the file is more important than Stella's wellbeing."

"Why wouldn't she just call a goddamn doctor," Lindsay's body went slack against the bed frame, "Why all of this?"

"Speaking of which, Miss Monroe, why are you even here?"

Lindsay reached into the abnormally large tote bag (or maybe it wasn't abnormal for women these days, Danny mused, there was never a way to tell) and pulled out a blue folder. He resisted the urge to laugh in her face.

"Yours was late too, wasn't it?" he smiled triumphantly and snatched the file out of her hand, then reached to place it on Stella's bedside table.

Lindsay frowned, "It wasn't my fault really."

"Uh huh."

"We were just really busy in the lab yesterday!"

"Whatever you say Montana," he studied her nervous expression and decided to change the subject, "So what's going on with Mac."

"Stuck in traffic, he should be here in a little while."

"Traffic on a Saturday afternoon?"

"Car accident on the freeway."

Danny yawned and lay his head back against the mattress, prompting a curious look from Lindsay.

"Why are you so tired anyways?"

"Because this apartment is a freaking death trap. I had to climb twenty-one flights of stairs to get up here. _Twenty-one_! And then, Stella wouldn't open her door, so I busted my knuckles trying to get in, and then she _opened_ the door and I fell inside, at which point, she ignored me."

"Wait, wait. Why didn't you take the elevator?"

"It was out of order, for repairs."

"Well it was working again when I got here."

"Yeah, that's just my luck, isn't it?"

--

Stella Bonasera awoke to a headache like she'd never experienced before.

Probably because, in her entire life, she had never consumed as much alcohol before ten. She panicked when she realized that she was in bed, and looked to the digital clock at her side. Brushing away the mysterious blue file folder that was covering it, Stella read the glowing numbers. _5:00 PM_.

"Oh dear..." she turned over onto her other side.

Her eyes nearly popped out of her head at what she saw.

"_Danny?_" she hissed at the male figure on the floor next to her bed, a jacket beneath his head.

She could only guess that it was Danny Messer, since he was turned away from her and was wearing a monotonous gray sweater. But somewhere in the back of her mind, there was a cloudy memory involving Danny Messer, bleeding at the fingers, babbling about juice.

Or something.

"Danny? Danny is that you?" she asked, frantic for no reason.

"Mm?" he rolled over enough to look over his shoulder with one eye, then closed it and returned to his previous stance, "Go back to bed, Stella."

"_What_?" she couldn't believe her ears.

She sat up quickly in bed, but then regretted the move when she felt an unbearable wave of pain crash into her head at full force. She let out a soft groan and lay back down in bed. Once she regained her composure, she crawled over to the edge of the bed and poked his shoulder, "Danny."

No answer.

"_Detective Messer_!" she said in a low growl and shook his shoulder.

"What?" he turned around again just a little, so that he could look at her, "What is it Stella?"

"You're in my bedroom."

"Yes."

"It's five in the afternoon."

"Yes."

The blood went to her face, "Danny... you and I... we didn't... we..."

"Yes Stella," he turned his back to her again, "We made hot, passionate love, at ten o' clock in the morning. That's exactly why I'm sleeping on your floor."

Before she had the time to breathe a sigh a relief, there was a knock at the door, and Danny thought he was just about sick of that sound.

"Are you guys away in there yet?" came Lindsay's voice from the other side, "Coffee's here."

That wasn't the only thing that had arrived in Stella's apartment at a quarter to one, Danny and Stella discovered once they managed to pull themselves from their respective resting places and stumble into the living room where Mac Taylor was sitting quite amusedly in an armchair.

"So glad you've decided to join us?" said Mac, who strode over to Danny and handed him a cup of coffee that was miraculously, still hot, "Danny, you look rested."

Danny smiled sheepishly, only to mask the darkened glare that was lurking behind his eyes, "Hey Mac."

Then Danny and Lindsay were forgotten to him and he was right in front of Stella in a single bound, "What happened, Stell?" he asked, his voice was heavy and even as usual.

"I'm... I'm not entirely..." she glanced at Lindsay who gave her an encouraging smile and motioned to the empty wine bottle that she had thoughtfully hidden behind a fern plant just before Mac arrived, "... I mean, I've been kind of sick."

Mac stared at Stella, a certain something in his eyes meant only for her, he took her one wrist in his, place his hand right over the spot where the bandage still was, "It's too soon for you to know. What's going on?"

"I just...," she glanced at Danny and Lindsay who – taking the hint – made a speedy exit into the kitchen where they began to argue about something trivial, "I don't know Mac."

"I can smell it. On your breath."

She turned away, embarrassed by her lack of strength and the vulnerability that was becoming glaringly obvious in front of his eyes, "I was scared I guess."

"This is destructive, Stella."

"I know. I know. It happened really fast. I was walking in the rain."

"In the rain?"

"Last night. The thunderstorm."

"But I called you," Mac shook his head, unable to understand, "I told you it was okay if you didn't want to come, because your car was in the shop. Stella, we've had dinner at my place before, it's okay for you to cancel every one in awhile."

She shook her head blindly, "But I didn't want to. I wanted to see you, in case..." she cut herself off for fear of what she might say accidentally, and sat down on the couch.

Then he was holding her, tightly, because he hated to think that she was this depressed, post-drunken, possibly AIDS-infected human being. He wasn't used to seeing her like that. He was used to her being invincible and strong and so very unlike any human being, unlike anything he'd ever seen.

"Remember what you said Stella?" he asked quietly, "That day in my office, about living life to the fullest, every day of it?"

But she wasn't going to hear any of that. Not until she got this all out of her system. Not until she was done crying into his shirt, in the middle of the afternoon, with Danny and Lindsay in the next room, the latter crying as well having heard the entire conversation.

"This is so unfair," Lindsay muttered to Danny, sniffling the same way that Stella had in front of the refrigerator that very morning.

"Yeah," he said, rubbing his face with the bruised knuckles that didn't seem to hurt as much as the ache that was coming from inside of him, "It really is."

--

"It's starting to get kind of crowded in here," said Stella as she chopped a tomato carefully.

"Well we can't really have a dinner party without guests," said Mac from somewhere behind her.

"I can't believe this is happening," she said gleefully as she tossed the salad, "Especially in _my_ apartment. It might get a little stuffy in here when the others arrive, just warning you."

"Yes. Especially when Sid gets here," Mac adds with a knowing smile, "You know, he's going to make a comment about that lasagna."

"I would be shocked if he didn't."

--

"Nice sauce, reminds me of-"

"_Sid_," Lindsay hissed, having predicted the next words to come out of his mouth having something to do with the human digestive tract.

"Just saying."

"Well don't," Sheldon, to his left, added, "Great dinner guys."

"Yes well, I'm glad this finally happened. We've only been talking about it for months," Stella laughed and shot a glare at Lindsay, who was smiling innocently at Danny, "Watch it, kiddo, that was _my_ leg."

Lindsay turned ten shades of red and looked down at her plate. Across from her, Danny could do nothing but smile.

Deciding to change the subject before Lindsay exploded with humiliation (or before Sid could crack another biology joke) Stella looked around the table until her eyes landed on Mac, "What happened to Adam?"

"He couldn't make it," Mac replied quickly, "Wasn't feeling too well."

Stella blushed at that, and coughed into her hand politely.

"How about you, Stella?" Flack smiled his dazzling smile from next to her, "I heard you were a little under the weather this morning?"

Danny, who was in the know for once, lifted his head and said quite simply, "Just a little bug. Plenty of juice, and it was out of her system. Fluids, you know."

--

As the night progressed, Stella found herself feeling more and more at ease. Flack told his brilliant jokes, and Sid told his patronizing ones. Lindsay planted herself in front of the television to watch reruns of _Friends_, and eventually roped them all into watching it with her.

Towards the end of the night, Stella began to ponder on how all of this had even happened. She waved goodbye to Sheldon, Sid and Flack, who had early shifts the next morning and remembered that it had been Lindsay's idea to invite the rest of the team over for an impromptu dinner at Stella's place. The young detective had had hopes of lightening the depressing mood that had been cast over the apartment. It had worked remarkably, Stella thought, as she walked outside her apartment to say goodnight to Mac.

He leaned towards her, kissing her cheek and then pausing by her ear to whisper, "You're the bravest person I know, Stella. You'll get through this."

She held him to her, "Goodnight, Mac."

"Goodnight."

Sensing that the moment was over, Lindsay appeared beside her and squeezed her hand, "'Night, Stella, thanks for having us."

"Yes well, things turned out quite nicely, didn't they?"

"Of course. By the way, my case file is on your table."

"Great," she gave her a quick, friendly hug, "Goodnight Lindsay."

She scurried down the hallway and waited by the elevator.

Danny stepped out of the apartment with infinitely more grace than he'd used when he'd first entered, "You're great, Stell, you're just awesome," he said, "Next time we do this though, it's at my place."

"No problem," she smiled brightly and leaned against the door.

"Wouldn't do that if I were you," he warned jokingly.

"Thanks for the concern."

"Anytime, Stella. Oh, and... my case file, I haven't the slightest idea what happened to it."

"It's okay, you can get it to me whenever you like," Stella grinned and patted his shoulder, "Turns out, I didn't need it as badly as I thought."

"Right, well then what are you doing tomorrow morning?"

"Me?" she smiled again, her inhibitions gone as she took one step into the apartment and said just loud enough for him to hear, "I'm going to live."

**fin.**

_July 2008._


End file.
